Domovoi
by mousers
Summary: The Allies are thouroughly creeped out by Ivan, who's never explained his own personal history. If only they knew. Human names.


"Y'know," began Alfred, sipping his drink casually, "I had the weirdest dream the other night..."

He started to explain, gesturing wildly, while Ivan took a swig of vodka, the barman giving him a harsh look that he pretended not to notice. Of course he brought his own vodka. He wasn't drinking that American-made swill.

The rest of the Allies muttered as Alfred finished describing his dream, and looked directly at Ivan.

"Hm?"

"I said, what do you dream about?"

Ivan considered for a moment. "I dream about fire a lot."

The others nodded awkwardly, showed each other a cocked eye brow and continued to drink.

**--**

_There didn't used to be a "Russia". It was made up of different cities and their outlying regions, who all looked after themselves and fought with each other. _

_That was my father and his brothers. _

_I lived with him- my father- and my grandmother, who knew everything anyone could ever want to know about Russian folklore, in Muscovy, modern-day Moscow. I didn't have any brothers or sisters or cousins, my uncles had no time for children. It was obvious that my father didn't intend on having me. I didn't know my mother._

_As my father was often away, my grandmother looked after me. _

_--_

The plump, bright-eyed old woman looked up from the fire as she heard her grandson's feet padding towards her. "What's wrong, Ivan? You should be sleeping."

"I- I heard a noise! A bang!"

"You were imaging things, my boy, go back to bed."

"No! I think... I think we have a domovoi!(1)"

She pulled the young boy onto her lap. "Well, of course we have a domovoi." She chuckled when his eyes widened. "Haven't you met him?"

"No."

"Well, he protects us all from evil spirits," she explained nonchalantly, bouncing the tot on her knee. "We have to keep him happy, and that's why there'll be no mess or cursing in this house, and certainly not any violence."

"Doesn't he like violence, babushka?(2)"

"Not a bit!"

"What does he look like?" asked Ivan, somewhat sleepily, but as if determined to stay awake throughout the story he blinked several times.

"Like the master of the house, usually. Only older, with a grey beard."

"So he looks like father?"

"Yes, he does," answered the old woman seriously, wrapping her shawl around her grandson's shoulders.

"Babushka..." started the child, wide-eyed, expectant. "Have you _met_ him?"

"Ivan," she paused and smiled broadly. "I've only _seen_ him. I saw your father outside at night through the window, he had his heavy coat on and a scarf wrapped up around his face, but when I went to ask him where he was going, he had disappeared. Not a trace. Not even footsteps in the snow. And when I asked your father about it the next morning, do you know what he said?"

"What?"

"He had gone to bed early that night, and hadn't been up. Now I would recognise my own son, wouldn't I? So it must have been our domovoi!"

"What was he doing?"

"I don't know, my boy." Ivan stared at the air in front of him emptily, scanning his tired mind for an explanation that didn't occur, before he yawned and rubbed his eyes. "Now, come on," smiled his grandmother, standing and taking his hand. "We'll leave him some milk and bread (3), so he'll not make any more noise tonight and then you have to sleep."

--

_True to my grandmother's word, there weren't any more noises that night, nor was I scared when I did hear them; it was just our minder, guarding me, making sure that I behaved, kept the house tidy, didn't swear or curse, and certainly wasn't violent. I trusted our domovoi completely. So, when I heard a long, moaning wail coming, I was sure, from under the threshold, I told my grandmother, who baked a small cake and left it out that night, to cheer him up, and for him to protect us from what he had been complaining about._

_At this time, the small states of Russia were fighting over each other, wanting land and power and wealth. My father was killing his brothers. My uncles were killing each other, and innocent people were slaughtered in the process. _

_--_

Ivan gasped as smoke filled his lungs, gripped his heart, clawed his throat. Past yells and screams and raucous laughter, fire crackled against wood, the flames close enough to heat his skin. He grasped wildly for the scarf he kept by his bed and threw it over his mouth and nose, breathing in the sweet-hay musky scent, before tumbling out of his sheets and pulling on boots in a panic, draping his coat over his arm and sprinting blindly into his grandmother, still unsure of what was happening, still unable to breathe or see or speak, only hearing her cough and tell him to go to the back door- not to wait for her, but to run and not to stop, no matter what he heard, and pushed him aside when he tried to clutch her and hold on to her skirts, waiting for some explanation. He hit the ground with a dull thump, suddenly realised a wisp of slightly refreshing air, and on his stomach, crawled to the back door, kicking it open, cold night air cutting his cheeks. He shook the snow out of his shirt, clambered into his coat, and started to run. Against the hills and forest harsh, cruel laughter was louder, as were his father's echoing cries - he was pleading with the perpetrators, begging them to stop, his son was still in the house, and his mother... he gave an even louder, pained cry, and there was a deafening roar of delight.

--

_I never saw my father or my grandmother again. _

The rising sun washed the snow in a soft pink, casting streams of yellow-orange light between the tall fir trees onto charred wood, broken ornaments, cloths, toys. Ivan stood away from the rubble; if he went closer, he was sure to see something worse than some shattered structure. He sat on a rock looking onto his broken home, feeling a hot tear against his numbed red cheeks. He wiped it angrily, cursing, and was suddenly shocked. He'd never sworn before. He hadn't been allowed to swear before. Awkwardly, he looked around, before he got up and walked to a piece of thin wood, picked it up, and smashed it forcefully against his rock. It buckled and splintered, falling in pieces at his feet. Violence wasn't allowed in Ivan's home. But Ivan's home was gone now, as was anyone who would scold him. It wasn't necessarily a good feeling, having destruction well in his gut, grief waiting in the back of his mind for the moment he would realise what had happened to him, but it was of adrenaline-powered and vengeful. It was empowering. Ivan smiled to himself, but heard a crunch of feet on snow somewhere behind him. He turned, and his father stood, beside a tree in a clearing, his coat on, scarf draped lazily over his shoulders, grey beard on his chin- Ivan squinted. Yes, he did have a beard, which could only mean-

"H...Hey, wait!"

The man faded and disappeared.

--

_Muscovy obtained a new prince, I became Russia, and Russia became a nation under this Tsar. Russia was one. _

_--_

"Just because your country is less than three hundered years old doesn't mean the rest of us don't have any bloody history!"

"I do have history!"

"Yes, Alfred, but let's be honest, not much in comparison to say... Russia. "

"Hm?" asked Ivan dreamily. "Oh, yes, Russia's history is interesting. Very violent, of course, lot of slaughtering innocent women and children..." he stared at the air in front of him.

"Right... well." Arthur cleared his throat awkwardly, and, after a lengthy silence, the meeting commenced, the rest of the Allies ignoring the Russian's melancholy expression, and tightened fist.

* * *

Oh, poor Russia...

_(1) It's been explained in the story, but in Russian folklore a domovoi is a house spirit that protects the occupants of the house and forewarns them of tragedy. It can also sometimes be small and hairy, but that wouldn't work so well. It lives in dark spaces like under stoves and thresholds. Also, if the domovoi moaned, it meant a tragedy was about to occur. _

_(2) "Babushka" is the Russian word for "grandmother."_

_(3) A family will be rewarded with a well-behaved domovoi if they leave him supper at night._

I really tried to brush up on my history for this one XD I think the characters fit into places (the grandma can just be *Grandmother Russia*, no?)

_R&R, please! :D _


End file.
